Harry Potter and the Path Alternate
by Veil Ion
Summary: Harry has defeated Voldemort, but now he must deal with the fallout. Takes place immediately after The Battle of Hogwarts. Currently a Oneshot


The two spells sped towards each other, meeting in the very centre. And in that flash of light, it was over. A wand flew up high into the air, and Harry watched as it fell, tumbled down to clatter on the stone floor just in front of him. Across from him, Voldemort dropped to his knees, the light leaving his eyes, though Harry could not see from so far away. And then he fell to the floor, a simple death for the Dark Lord, the most fitting death possible. He could hear the cheers slowly rising to a deafening roar, but then it started to fade, to dull in his ears. And then Harry fell too, darkness claiming him.

He was awake before they could even move him. His eyes opened to see everyone surrounding him, Ron and Hermione the closest, of course, along with Ginny, Neville, and Luna. The teachers were just behind them, holding back the well-meaning masses that unknowingly threatened to crush their saviour, though Hagrid seemed to be doing most of the work. As he watched for a second through half open eyes, he mused at the fact that this was being done manually, not a wand in sight. It would seem that, even for those who taught it, magic would never be completely instinctive.

And then Hermione and Ginny both were right next to him, seemingly talking as fast as they could, though it was impossible to hear them over the crowd. He shook his head at the utter mess around him. After all the countless deaths, how could a single one cause so much chaos? One that hadn't even truly happened, as he could see that word of his wellbeing was passing around the assembled wizards and witches like wildfire, though it didn't seem to be changing their need to get as close to him as they could.

He shook his head again, staggering slowly to his feet to the once again deafening cheers. He coughed into his hand, hiding the blood in a tight fist before looking up at the sea of faces. They swarmed him then, pushing past the teachers to touch him, to hold any part of him they could, though not many could do so on Hagrid's side. To them, he was their Saviour, their guide and leader. Harry himself couldn't think about much more than how tired he was, how sore his body was, and how few of them he really wanted to be with right now.

To be honest, it was a little too much right now, but he tried not to show how overwhelmed he was.

After the crush died down a bit, he still couldn't rest, having to spend time with the wounded, pay respects to the dead, listen as wizards much older and more experienced than him came for advice, or permission to do things, or simply to complain about issues they came up against. Everywhere he went, they seemed to expect him to just have the right words, the ones that could ease the pain and fix the problems. After the first few times, Harry stopped trying to direct them to the professors, who still did move about helping, for which he was grateful. He just tried to make his way through, and tried to ignore the disappointment in their eyes when he couldn't do more.

It all left him numb, the moans of pain, the tears of grief, everything.

He was simply numb to it all, unfeeling.

That night, he made his way towards where his friends sat as they took a break, quietly eating. The food was simple but filling, he could see before he even sat. Soups and breads, to have been organised so well and without him hearing of problems, Harry knew it must have been the House Elves' work.

For the first time in quite a while, he found himself thinking back to Hermione's crusade for them, about their slave mentality and poor work conditions. In that moment, he couldn't help but think that she had been right, even as he watched her share a bowl with Ron, the two of them sat close with their heads leant closer still. The House Elves, he knew, had also fought alongside their masters, and many had died fighting, but without complaint they had gotten to work, not even taking time of their own to grieve.

He wouldn't have eaten anything if Neville hadn't walked over and pushed a large bowl into his hands, along with extra rolls. He ignored the surplus, taking a biting of the bread, chewing mechanically and swallowing hard. To Harry, it tasted like ash. He placed it aside, standing up slowly and quietly announcing he was going for a walk. He let his feet take him away from them, and he stopped after a while to turn and watch them.

Ron, Hermione, Luna, Neville. They sat close to each other, talking quietly and staring into the little fire before them. Around them sat others, Gryffindors and some members of the DA. They had secluded themselves away from the adults, who had wordlessly acquiesced to the unspoken need for time amongst their peers.

He turned away, again letting his feet take him where they might, and he simply watched without speaking as he passed by many others. He watched as Sprout and Pince helped Madame Pomfrey tend to the wounded along with some he assumed had come from St Mungo's. He passed what must have been the remains of the Order, silently nodding to Shacklebolt. The Weasleys were with them, apart from Ron, Ginny and, he forced the thought to finish, Fred. He noted blankly how much smaller the group seemed, not just in size but also emotionally. They were closed in, empty of humour and joy.

He realised then that he hadn't seen Ginny in a while, and though a part of him wished to search for him, another part still rationalised that he would likely see her before-

Harry stopped. Before what? Where was he going right now, and what was he doing? He wasn't sure. He decided to keep walking as he had been, thoughtless and seemingly aimless.

It didn't take long before he found himself at the open doors of the Great Hall, and found that part of him had been right.

Ginny stood leaning against the arch, and watched silently as he approached.

He paused when he reached her, unsure what to say.

"It's okay Harry, I know." She looked at him, brown eyes full of sympathy and… resignation?

"I'm so tired, Ginny" he croaked. What was he saying? What was she saying?

She seemed to slump at his words, her very posture falling slightly. "Are you sure? There is so much still to do, and Ron and Hermione…" she trailed off. Harry still wasn't sure what she meant, but so far the words had come, and so he just let them come again.

"They have each other now, they'll be okay."

She laughed, a sound without emotion "I guess you're right, and after all, the rest of us have been pretty selfish. We were all so selfish." Her words were tinged with bitterness.

They stood for just a moment, enjoying the comfortable emptiness of the silence. Harry looked back into the Great Hall, at all the people gathered in small groups around fires, talking little and laughing even less.

"I have to go."

There it was. Even as he said the words, he knew that was what he needed to say. He turned to look at Ginny, her eyes shining wetly, but not yet spilling.

"I won't cry for you, Harry Potter. I've shed enough tears today." Harry said nothing.

Without warning, stepped quickly into him, and stood on the tips of her toes to plant a small, chaste kiss on his cheek.

"I love you, Harry. I think I always will." She gave him a small, sad smile and turned away without waiting for a response, walking quickly back into the hall.

He stood for a moment, or maybe an age, fighting to run after her, to stop her and kiss her back and say he loved her too. But he knew that he couldn't, not after she'd just let him go. It would hurt her too much.

So he turned and left the great hall, not looking back.

It would be a while before his friends noticed, a while still before the whole hall was filled with the frantic noise as they looked for him. The search would continue for months, years before the desperate energy dissipated into realisation that he was gone, that their proclaimed saviour was not coming back.

And Harry rested.


End file.
